Credit for Drew Where Credit Is Due

Two weeks ago, I received my highly-anticipated t-shirt order from the fine folks at Toothpaste for Dinner and Married to the Sea. I brought them home triumphantly for the holidays -- breathlessly awaiting how my parents would react to the Booze Time shirt -- and immediately threw them in the washing machine so I could enjoy them.

Two survived the trip unscathed. My long-awaited drinking shirt, however, was a casualty.

Turns out there was something up with the stitching on the bottom of the shirt. When it came out of the washer, well over two feet of thread was dangling from the undone seam, and though I snapped the thread off, it was still coming undone pretty easily.

My first reaction was to ask Mom if she could stitch it up like new. She said she couldn't, and that she only knew one person who could: Franny, an elderly woman that we work with. (And no matter how much Mom insisted that she would be down with it, there was no way in hell I was going to give an old lady with a heart condition a shirt with the word "motherfucking" on it.)

And because I'm mostly nonconfrontational, when Mom suggested I e-mail the company and ask for a replacement, I was naturally a little uneasy. Nevertheless, when faced with the prospect of never washing my drinking shirt -- which, though not totally unnatural, doesn't seem like a terribly sanitary idea -- or never wearing it again, I bucked up and e-mailed Sharing Machine.

Four minutes later, I got a reply. It was an apology, a request for my size and mailing address, and an assurance that a replacement shirt would be sent out tomorrow.

Signed, Drew.

Now, I don't know for sure if this is the same Drew who is responsible for the content of Toothpaste for Dinner, but as he and Natalie are known for keeping their business ventures small and close to the chest, it wouldn't shock me if that was the man himself.

Regardless, the fact that they responded ABNORMALLY FAST and that they offered to replace the shirt without question makes me want to personally give them a high-five. Someone out there still understands that you can't spell "customer service" without the "customer," and it's always nice to be reminded of that.

So if you're looking to get your favorite alcoholic, grammar bitch, or obsessive-compulsive academic a great Christmas gift this year, I suggest looking at the shirts on Sharing Machine and patronizing folks who'll do the right thing and treat you right.

Oh, and read their comics, too. They're funny as hell.

Marketing FAIL?

McDonald's has a new pro-Chicken McNugget commercial, about rabid fans of the questionable food product that go by the title of "Nuggnuts."

Let's try as hard as we can, for a moment, to put out of our mind how utterly horrid this ad campaign sounds right from the start.

But am I the only one who watches these commercials, listens to the voiceover guy call them by their unusual moniker, and instead hears him calling them "numbnuts"?

It can't just be me.

Special Delivery!

My stomach has been in knots all day today. So what better to lift my spirits than a surprise visit from the UPS delivery man!

(In fairness, I knew I'd ordered these things, I just hadn't expected them so quickly.)

So what'd I get? Take a gander:

First, for the grammar bitch in me...


And then, because I can't put enough clothing in my drawer that mocks the Bard...


And finally, the coup de grace. The shirt that I've been talking about getting for quite a while but never picked up.

Until now...


The day is already looking a little bit better.

The Rickroll to End All Rickrolls

I was at my brother's house, enjoying a plate of bacon and swiss quiche and roasted ham, and watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. There was really no reason for me to watch or being interested in the parade, but it was something to do while chewing. (My family was always fond of watching the Disney Very Merry Christmas Parade, before us darn kids got old and started sleeping through the whole damn thing.)

Float by float, band by band, crappy kiddy act by crappy kiddy act, everyone went by with little differentiation between them. Then came a float for Cartoon Network's Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. I'd never heard of the show, and it looked silly only with respect to the fact that the blue dude hanging out the window looked like a penis and we'd just made a penis joke. (This is my family, after all.)

Then suddenly, the music cuts out. And in its place, a very familiar beat -- accompanied by a rather striking man in a black overcoat with a disarmingly pleasing baritone.

My parents responded with mild surprise, followed by several affirmations that they loved that song. My brother and his wife just kinda watched with blank stare.

I was laughing my ass off and trying to suppress it.

Because I could have tried to explain, but that would have been futile at best.

Instead, I took out my cell phone, picked out as many people as I could think would appreciate it, and sent out the following succinct, direct, and extremely gratifying message:

OMG RICK ASTLEY RICKROLLED THE MACY'S THANKSGIVING DAY PARADE ROFL!

This Thanksgiving, I was thankful for Rick -- and for his astonishing sense of humor and willingness to take part in such awesome. And, tangentially, to Eleanor and Caitlin, for appreciating it to precisely the level that I'd wished someone would have.

9:58pm

I am so glad I stuck around to see the previews for season seven after the film.

Jack Bauer is going to be put on trial by Red Forman? That may be even more shocking than the not-so-shocking return-from-the-dead of Tony Almeida!

Definitely counting the days until January!

But that's about all I have to say about that.



9:59:57

9:59:58

9:59:59

10:00:00.

9:53pm

Prescient words, Madame President.

Just remember one thing in a few months, though:

When Jack Bauer tells you something, fucking listen.

9:50pm

Fuck you, Frank Tramell.

That is all.

9:47pm

I know I said this before -- at 8:11pm, to be precise -- but Jon Voight, you are one creepy motherfucker.

9:43pm

Dear small African child,

I understand that you are young and, as such, have not been around for the entire run of 24. So you don't yet know that, in any situation where Jack Bauer gives you a direction, the correct answer is to listen to Jack Bauer.

But can you explain to me why you would turn around and run away from Jack Bauer when the one other white guy you could trust was just killed?

I really hope you're not thinking of doing anything else stupid in the next 15 minutes. I'd hate to regret feeling for you these past couple of hours.

9:35pm

Carl is a huge baller, and I respect the cajones it takes for him to take one for the team and not get off the land mine. But what amazing foresight to draw the terrorists towards him before stepping off the mine. Good man!

9:32pm

Bauer's gonna try and disarm the land mine? He really is the most amazing person on the face of the Earth, isn't he?

9:23pm

Touché, 24.

I predicted an ambush, and likely torture, but I did not see the portable lie detector coming into play. These guys, I like the cuts of their jibs.

9:19pm

AA boy has just returned -- alone -- to his apartment, in order to decrypt the secret files that he sent to his hard drive. You know, the files that will incriminate his corporation.

I predict he will be ambushed and either severely injured or killed shortly. And probably just before the files finish decrypting.

9:15pm

A helicopter? Really?

This show is making me lose all faith in the United Nations. I mean, I understand that not many people on the international stage care all that much about sub-Saharan Africa. And that lots of terrorist organizations are able to get their shit together without anyone figuring it out before it's too late.

But these guys have lots of guns, huge numbers of vehicles, an extremely well-contained and organized hierarchy of soldiers, and now, a helicopter.

How was this so surprising to the UN and the American Embassy? Do they have eyes and ears?

And furthermore, don't they watch 24?

9:11pm

Ahh, now it's clear. President Daniels is all pissy because he didn't win re-election.

In the interest of preserving my thoughts, I will not retract my post from 8:33pm. But it is ever so slightly amended.

9:02pm

I'm glad that 24 has decided to elect a female President because I presume this will break the show's streak of featuring women who are completely inept when it comes to political dealings.

The AA guy comes to President Taylor's son's place, spilling his guts about an extraordinarily illegal operation involving terrorists, -- terrorists that are probably being led by the freaking Candyman! -- and when that results in said President's son telling her she'll have to go on ahead of him, she gives him that look like he's not getting any pussy for a month for the inconvenience?

Why is it that women on this show have no sense of foreign relations? Don't they freaking watch 24?

8:54pm

Dear UN representative scumbag,

Please read my post from 8:50pm. Your ass is next.

8:52pm

AMAZING.

Bauer only needs his fucking legs to kill terrorists.

The man must be horrifying when his entire body is ready and available for use.

8:50pm

If there's anything that 24 has taught me, it's that the bureaucracy of the United States Government is so great and all-consuming that it turns even the most hard-working person into a cold-hearted agent.

And if there are two things it's taught me, it's that fuckwits like him always get their comeuppance.

8:45pm

Whoa!

So this whole child soldier storyline is Law & Order-style "ripped from the headlines"? Or so that lovely little Human Rights Watch PSA would have us believe.

Maybe Jack is a bit timelier than I'd previously accused him of being.

8:44pm

Wait. One. Second.

Did Jack Bauer just lose a fight?

I mean, we all know it's little more than a temporary setback. And that the terrorist/insurgent leader's idea to keep Jack alive for just a little longer will blow up in his face by 5:00pm.

But still. Jack doesn't lose.

8:42pm

The terrorists are currently hiding behind a wall of what looks like propane tanks.

I predict this will end similar to the Jack v. grenade launcher incident of a few moments ago.

Also, Jack Bauer's ability to kill with a) pistols, b) dynamite, c) knives, d) the enemy's submachine guns, and e) his bare fucking hands remains remarkably impressive.

8:38pm

Nice to see that, even in the midst of an international crisis, there's plenty of time for gratuitous product placement.

I find myself overcome with the urge to use my Sprint/Nextel phone to look up stats on a Hyundai Genesis...

8:33pm

24, last time I checked, is supposed to be a relatively contemporary show.

And we just went through a Presidential campaign where we elected arguably one of the most personable, charismatic leaders of all time.

And yes, I know he came into power because he was the Vice President and the second President Palmer was incapacitated during season six.

But come on, 24 writers. Do you really think the American people would really elect anyone who's as big of a douchebag as Noah Daniels is?

I hope he drops off the face of Bauerland after President Taylor's inauguration.

8:28pm

It's Tom!

I mean, I know I shouldn't be all that surprised, since Noah Daniels is still the President -- at least until Madame President Allison Taylor is sworn in in just a few short hours -- and no one actually removed Tom Lennox from his post during season six.

But...it's Tom!

Tom Lennox is, like, the one guy on any White House staff that the viewer can always trust. He is to the President's staff what, say, Aaron is to the Secret Service. Or what Chloe is to CTU.

Good to see you, Tom!

8:25pm

New rule: ALL episodes of 24 should include at least one gratuitous shot of a scantily clad hottie getting dressed. Extra points for extra cleavage, of course.

8:20pm

Dear terrorists,

Good idea: If you're going to be kidnapping children to recruit for your people's army, selecting children who have been playing football (that's soccer to Americans like me) is probably a good way to get strong, athletic bodies.

Bad idea: Firing your weapons into the sky while loudly driving multiple Jeeps to surround them will probably draw more attention to you than you'd like.

Just a suggestion.

8:11pm

Two things:

1) Jon Voight, why is it that all of a sudden the only roles you can get are playing patriotic Americans who are actually traitorous schmucks? Is it because you're so damn good at it, or because your daughter keeps getting headlines instead of you?

2) Why is every skeevy scheme in some other country inevitably tied to a large, private, multinational corporation headquartered in Washington, DC? Don't you think the government would have, you know, started looking into this shit by now? It's been at least ten years in the show's timeline, and no one else but me has picked up on this?

8:08pm

I've already got a very bad feeling about this ambassador guy.

And apparently, so does Jack.

Given his track record, I'm gonna trust the Bauer on this one.

8:04pm

Whew!

Only the "pre-game" setup piece wasn't in real time. The rest will be taking place between 3:00pm and 5:00pm and, per the soothing baritone of Kiefer Sutherland, occurring in real time.

I am comforted.

8:01pm

Holy shit.

We have a bunch of young children shooting targets with guns in daylight. And then, instantly, we have them getting a pep talk around a campfire at night?

Was I naïve to think that this would be in real time?

The 24: Redemption Live Blog

I've waited one year, six months, and two days for this.

Is it any surprise, then, that I've got the laptop in front of me, taking down thoughts and reflections as the most recent new episode of 24 -- the two-hour season seven prequel movie, 24: Redemption -- goes to air? Of course not.

I'll be trying to limit my commentary to commercial breaks, but I make no promises.

Oh yeah, and let every post over the next two hours be prefaced by a big ol' spoiler warning. Don't say I didn't prepare you.

Jack is back. It's go time.

Story of My Life

Soundtrack FAIL

It often seems that my life as of late has been consumed with Zack and Miri Make a Porno.

Sure, I've already written a post about the film, and, as promised in my last line, I was there on opening night, along with three good friends and only two other people in the entire theatre -- it was Halloween night, after all -- watching the vulgar magic unfold on screen.

I went into the film expecting to like it, and sure enough, Kevin Smith continues to not fail me. But as soon as the movie ended, I knew immediately that I wanted to see it again. And while I will confess that, unlike some of his other films, Zack and Miri does have a shockingly high compulsive-watchability factor, there was one very specific reason why I wanted to go back.

There is one scene, which I will not spoil, in which the background music plays such an integral role that I was completely and utterly drawn into the emotion in a way that very few other films I've seen before have done.

The song in question is called "Lift Me Up," by Live -- which I've learned through Wikipedia is an unreleased B-side to their 1994 breakthrough album Throwing Copper. The song was never released on any album to date, and so I presumed that, when the Zack and Miri soundtrack hits stores on November 11, the song would be on the soundtrack.

I was wrong.

And I'm rather dismayed because the song conjures up such incredible emotion that I know I would never be able to shake them if I were to hear the song again. Even more disheartening is that, for some strange reason, the song is pretty much impossible to find anywhere on teh Intarwebs.

So here I am, jonesing to hear this amazing song that was implemented perfectly in a film I adore, and all I can do is bow down to the directorial wunderkind that is Kevin Smith, wait impatiently for the distant DVD release, and hope that perhaps I'll get lucky enough to find the song during my cyber travails.

Sad. Face.

It's Snowing in State College

Why is it snowing in State College?

I understand that we're in the middle of two substantive mountain ranges, and thus get all the crappy weather funneled our way. I also understand that it's snowing in both Eastern Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

However, it's also the end of fucking October.

I'm no crazy hippie environmental guy, but anyone who's looking at this and can honestly say that global warming isn't happening needs to see a proctologist stat because they're full of shit. Fall lasted for about, oh, three weeks. Tops. It's already too bitterly cold for a fall coat, and, oh yes, there's snow accumulating on lawns right now.

I had a friendly wager with some of my fellow students over when the first accumulating snowfall would come. I had November 24, and I was willing to concede that I was going to be a little too late. But four weeks late? Really?

Methinks Mother Nature needs to lay off the crystal meth.

The Problem with Porno

I tend not to subscribe to the Obligatory State Fandom Rule, which clearly dictates that if someone famous is born in the same state as you, you have to adore them. I suspect this works more in less populous states, or at least in less overtly beloved states, but if you're from New Jersey, for instance, the law of the land is that you must love Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, and Kevin Smith.

Sorry guys, but Bon Jovi has always been way too cheesy for my tastes, and Bruce never could sing and still can't. Kevin Smith, on the other hand, can write and direct a damn funny movie, and he was doing the "crude but good-hearted" flick long before Judd Apatow became a household name (and, with the exception perhaps of the unfortunate Jersey Girl, has consistently done it better).

So I'm incredibly stoked about K.S.'s upcoming feature, which grabbed my attention (and, apparently, the Weinstein Brothers' as well) by the title alone:

Zack and Miri Make a Porno.

Straightforward. Blunt. To the point. Gotta love it.

Unfortunately, that same title has been causing a number of problems with promoting the flick, including newspapers and TV stations who have flat refused to carry ads because of that pesky five-letter P-word. (No, not that one, you sicko.) And while I'm all about freedom of expression -- and especially in this case, as the usually-rigid MPAA approved a green-band (or all-ages) trailer for the film that includes its complete title -- I suppose I can understand why some people may not like that word.

Except when they say stupid shit like this:

Diane Levin, an education professor specializing in child development at Boston's Wheelock College, said the posters at city bus stops send a message to children that working in the porn industry is an acceptable occupation.

"It's drawing attention to a movie which is mainstreaming and normalizing pornography, saying if you need money, this is what you do," said Levin, co-author of "So Sexy So Soon: The New Sexualized Childhood and What Parents Can Do to Protect Their Kids."

The stick-figure images are especially appealing to youngsters, since "stick figures are something for children," she said.

Read the whole article here.

Consider me officially enraged.

I'm endlessly amazed at how little research talking-head academics do when cited for mainstream stories. Because, as a recovering academic myself, I know that the academy typically demands extremely rigorous research before anything is even considered a possibility for future publication.

So it's astounding to me that Professor Levin could level such a harsh charge against a movie that I'm almost certain she has not seen. (After all, it's not being released until October 31.) In fact, reading any of the copious available interviews with Smith regarding the movie -- which can be easily found using that most primitive of academic search engines, a little site called Google -- would quickly reveal that the film is not intended to glorify pornography whatsoever, and that it is instead both a skewering of the over-the-top world of internet porn as well as a thinly-veiled jab at his own experience independently making his first feature, Clerks.

And as for the bit about the stick figures, that too was part of the joke: just look at the freaking caption! "Seth Rogen & Elizabeth Banks made a movie so titillating that we can only show you this drawing." It's clearly not meant to try and attract children; rather, it's again a clever jibe at the MPAA, which felt that the original version, which still exists as the official Canadian poster, was too risque for all audiences despite it just barely toeing the line of inappropriate.

(If your virgin eyes can handle it, you can look at it here.)

It seems pretty clear to me that Smith has made a movie that's very clearly skewed towards adults and that is meant only for mature audiences. After all, anyone going to see a movie with "porno" in its title has to know what to expect from it. (This point, in fact, was a key part of Smith's ultimately successfully appeal to have the original NC-17 rating reduced to an [ironically] more advertising-friendly R.) And as I've already said, I'm all about freedom of expression, so if the MPAA is cool with it, I don't see why that single word should be such an issue.

Of course, there are parents who don't see it that way:

One complaint came from a man watching a game in September with his young son, who did not understand a suicide-squeeze bunt the Dodgers tried, Rawitch said.

"He was explaining to his son what a squeeze bunt was. Commercial break, the ad comes on, and the kid asks, `Dad, what does porno mean?"' Rawitch said. "Dodgers baseball has always been about family, and we've always been sensitive to the type of advertising that runs on our games."

So let me get this straight: it's perfectly legitimate to play highly-suggestive commercials hocking Viagra and Cialis during sports events, and that's less "family-friendly" than this commercial for a raunchy comedy? I smell bullshit. If this guy's kid watched one of those commercials and asked, "Daddy, how do I know if I have a four-hour long erection?" would he wig out just as badly? Or would he, like any normal parent, come up with a perfectly plausible explanation that doesn't reveal too much information and then quickly change the subject before the kid realizes this is something that's inappropriate for his age and thusly totally worth fixating on for the foreseeable future?

I'm not interested in turning this into a "parents should freaking parent" argument (though I stand by that thesis), and frankly I think this is mostly the case of the media turning a non-issue into a front-page story in the entertainment section. But what it continues to prove to me is that we are a country of raging hypocrites -- the kind who love our skin flicks and buy our perfumes and colognes based on how sexy the models look, but inexplicably wig out when we hear a single word, and one that isn't even a dirty word or a patently offensively word to boot!

"Porno" doesn't make us uncomfortable because it's a "bad word," but because we have a cultural rift over sex that is spiraling more and more out of control with each new day. We're trained from an early age that it is morally degrading and ethically wrong to think about sex or willingly seek it for pleasurable purposes. We're made to think it's ugly and awful and worth shunning. And we're told to ignore it, while on billboards and in even the most well-lit corners of the Internet, it grows and thrives and expands while we look at it through the slits between the fingers on the hands that cover our eyes.

It took a lot of balls for Kevin Smith to call his movie by this title precisely because it asks us to confront the issue head-on. And yet here we are, placing it on the pedestal of newsworthiness while pointing an accusatory finger at it and shouting, "Not on my bus stop!" It seems to me like Mr. Smith is making his point loud and clear, and he's getting lots of free press out of it, too. And if you care at all about freedom of expression, you'll support the cause by buying a ticket opening weekend. I know I will.

Zack and Miri Make a Porno is in theatres October 31.

------------------------

EDIT (10-22-2008, 4:00pm): Not to be a braggart, but I love being right. Click here to see Kevin Smith himself use the same argument I employed in the fourth-to-last paragraph.

Campaign Commercial Song Fail?

A less caustic observation made while watching tonight's debate:

ABC News has selected a recent Matchbox Twenty single to play over their commercials for further political coverage. As they show glimmering, smiling images of the candidates, they play the chorus on repeat: Let's see how far we've come! Let's see how far we've come!

Moving and inspiring, for sure. Good thing they didn't play the line that comes directly before that one:

I believe the world is burning to the ground!
Oh well, I guess we're gonna find out!

Eep. That's not so good. Surely the second half of the chorus has a more uplifting message, right?

I believe the world is coming to an end!
Oh well, I guess we're gonna pretend!

Guess ABC News didn't realize just how appropriate their choice of song was to our current situation...

Fill in the Blank

Fuck ______.


1) The United States Postal Service. Maybe I'm directing this towards the wrong party, because Tower "aren't they defunct?" Records is the site that shipped my stuff out, but I don't understand how anything that is shipped on September 30 can't arrive on October 7.

I've been waiting for the new Margot & the Nuclear So and So's albums, Animal! and Not Animal, for months now. I figured if I ordered them a week before their release date, they might end up on my doorstep in time. But no.

And not only "no," but apparently I can't track the packages once they leave Tower's warehouse because, according to their shipping FAQs, the USPS doesn't have tracking numbers on what Tower ships. I'm not sure I believe this (because I've used USPS tracking numbers before), but the bottom line is my discs are floating around somewhere and I have no way of checking to see where they are. This angers me.


2) Pennsylvania. I know I've said this quite a bit, but I really do have a legitimate explanation for this one.

As a direct result of my inability to get something shipped expediently, I have considered the possibility of going out to a store and purchasing Animal! and Not Animal, just so I can listen to them now. (I'd sell the shipped copies at some later point down the line -- and I know that's not a financially feasible decision, but just let me go on here.) Unfortunately, when I check the Best Buy website and try to order Not Animal for in-store pick-up, I quickly get told that no store within a 100 mile radius of State College has the disc in store.

However, when you type in my ZIP code in New Jersey, all seven stores that come up seem to stock it. How curious! Why can't I go home yet?


3) The debate. This is maddening as fuck. I understand that the whole thing is scripted, and that's the problem. Listening to Tom Brokaw prattling on about how they're not following the rules should be the most irritating part about watching this. Instead, I'm just pissed that no one will directly answer a fucking question. And we wonder why the voting populace is so goddamn ignorant.

Oh, and John...I'm not your damn friend! Stop calling me one!

Canine Crisis!

I'm a pretty patient guy. I'm relatively quiet, and I like alone time and, especially, sleepy time.

So imagine my dismay at having been awakened twice this week by the sound of a dog in the apartment below me howling like crazy.

If it were just baying briefly, I suppose I would understand. But the mutt's howling carries on for hours at a time. This morning, for instance, he started crying out around 8:30am, and continued to do so until almost 11:00am.

Now, I'm not really sure how to deal with this, so I need some friendly advice from anyone who might actually read this blog.

I'm not a big fan of confrontation, so I really don't want to go down there and get all up in this guy's/girl's grill. By the same token, I could call the main office of the complex, but they tend not to get involved in inter-tenant relations. I could also call the cops or the SPCA, but I feel like those are both extreme reactions.

So...what the hell do I do?

Great Success in E-Commerce

The online world, as you may have noticed, has not been terribly kind to me lately. I am pleased, however, to offer an unquestionably strong recommendation for a website that sells books, movies, and assorted other print products.

And no, it's not the one you're expecting.

Barnes & Noble is like the reliable, friendly neighbor who's always willing to lend a hand when you need something done around the house. Sure, they may not have everything, and they may not be able to give you exactly what you need right at that moment and for the most reasonable compensation, but damned if they aren't at least consistently willing to give it a try.

I make this comparison because I've been a Member for nearly three years now. For the low price of $25, I score 10% discounts (at least) on all purchases, and, as I recently discovered, an instant upgrade to Expedited Shipping on all my online orders, whether or not those orders total $25.

This is a far better offer, in my view, than Super Saver Shipping, because Amazon, God bless their souls, may offer everything under the sun, but can often drag their feet when processing your order. So while the 5-9 day shipping estimate is often correct -- and more times than not, the order arrives in less than 5 days -- it takes longer than it should to get the order shipped.

Consider my experience with Barnes & Noble today. I needed to buy a book (Marina Lewycka's Strawberry Fields [or Two Caravans]) and a DVD (the 1997 adaptation of Mrs. Dalloway starring Vanessa Redgrave). Upon making my purchase, I realized I didn't know which credit card I'd used.

In mere moments, I was on the phone with 1-800-THE-BOOK, talking to a real, living, breathing human being who helped me confirm my order was placed correctly. I then checked my e-mail. At 11:17am, I received my order confirmation. And at 11:35am, another e-mail, telling me my order was scheduled to ship.

18 minutes. To receive and pack my order. That's fucking impressive, no matter how you slice it.

Perhaps Amazon has overstepped its bounds a bit in an effort to be the world's foremost online retailer. I love their pricing, I love their selection, and I've never had a problem with their services. It's just that, for books, movies, and music, Barnes & Noble just seems to take care of its Members better. So even if it costs a couple bucks more, I feel like I'm getting a better value for my money, and that's something you don't find often nowadays -- and especially not in e-commerce.

21st-Century Computer Failures and Why They Should NEVER HAPPEN

The Decemberists make me happy. Facebook allowing me to be a fan of The Decemberists also makes me happy.

Receiving a notice through the Facebook fan page that Decemberists tickets are going on-sale early for fan members makes me very happy. Learning that one of those shows is in Montclair, NJ (mere miles from my humble abode) makes me extremely happy.

You know what doesn't make me happy?

When the pre-sale ticketing is done through a shitty, cut-rate website that can't handle the server traffic for a group of people trying to buy tickets to an indie concert.

I understand that The Decemberists are becoming so popular a group that the "indie" moniker just isn't gonna cut it for very long anymore, and that's fine. However, for right now, I think it's fair to say that The Decemberists cater to a rather specific musical niche -- namely, the folksy, classically-influenced, sea shanty-tinged narrative pop-rock crowd. They have just over 11,500 Facebook fans (as of this writing), as compared to, for instance, Dave Matthews Band, who have well over 200,000.

When DMB wants to do a pre-sale, their fans have an easy time navigating this. And all the pages on their websites load properly. I know this because I've done it before. Me, and easily millions of other people.

The Decemberists don't have numbers nearly into the millions of fans looking to order pre-sale tickets. As such, it is completely inexcusable that MusicToday's servers should repeatedly drop connections on the day of the pre-sale.

It's the 21st Fucking Century (with a capital F, even). How can you host a major website (which apparently caters to lots of fans of lots of lesser-known but still rather reputable bands) and still have your servers go kaboom when a bunch of people try to buy tickets? How can not handle what is, in the long haul, a less-than-substantial spike in your traffic in the middle of the afternoon?

The Decemberists make me happy. Going to see them live for a third time makes me happy. MusicToday, you do not make me happy. To thee I say, go screw.

------------------------

EDIT (4:44pm): Although it took over an hour for things to go smoothly, the page finally reloaded and I was able to secure my much-desired tickets. This does not, however, forgive the hour of cybershit I had to muck through to get said tickets.

Conclusion: thank you, MusicToday, but you're still on my shit list.

What I Learned in Vegas, Part I

The first in an occasional series of observations made during and after my first trip to Sin City.


There is nothing in southern Nevada but Las Vegas.

This is an extraordinarily difficult concept for those who've never gone to Vegas to understand. Particularly those who, like me, live near a major city and are used to the notion of what a metropolitan downtown should look like.

Las Vegas's dirty little secret is that, besides The Strip, there is nothing around. This is not an exaggeration. Upon flying into the Valley, if you able to look out the windows on both sides of the plane, you will spy sand and distant mountains on one side, while huge casino-hotels with mountains in the background are on the other side.

The example of New York City is instructive here. When one flies into Newark-Liberty, to the left is the most famous skyline in the world, and to the right is...well...Newark.

But the thing about the New York skyline is that the entire island of Manhattan is filled with enormous buildings, punctuated here and there with larger structures (such as, say, the Empire State Building). And Newark, while grody as hell, represents some semblance of what one might consider at the tail end of some crazy asshole's definition of civilization.

The skyline of Vegas, on the other hand, almost exclusively consists of one street. And sure, the Palms, the Rio, and the Trump Tower are just a few examples of buildings that aren't literally on The Strip, but when you get outside a few blocks radius of Las Vegas Boulevard, you find long flat stretches of single story businesses and houses, as if the suburbs are the city.

It's a lot like an old-school frontier town from early wild-west movies. Except that, instead of a general store, saloon, barber, and other such quaint businesses, you have enormous fucking bright shiny hotels. And then...nothing.

Whether nothing is better than Newark remains to be seen.

Not So Fast, Delaware...

I may have just given Maryland the what-for, but don't you dare think that your neighbor to the southwest will be shouldering all the blame for today's horrendous drive home. I saw some things on your roads today that would never have flied in the Garden State.

Firstly, I don't quite understand how so many people could be wanting to get back into Maryland, god-awful hole that it is, that the entire southbound length of I-95 in Delaware could be a parking lot. And this is not hyperbole or even slight exaggeration. I sat in a tiny bit of traffic leading up to the northbound tolls, but it was a fairly clear (kinda sorta) run from there.

However, a look to my left at any given time revealed the whole highway at a standstill. It was stopped from the tollbooth all the way up to the 95/495-295/NJ Turnpike split before the Delaware Memorial Bridge. For such a tiny state, there sure are a lot of people stuck there -- mostly, unsurprisingly, just trying to pass through.

But this traffic revealed one of the most ridiculous traffic anomalies I've seen in some time. Because for those of you who've never had the (dis)pleasure of driving down I-95 through Delaware, you should know that it's approximately 10 miles in length. And since Delaware's a small state with not a lot going for it, they need to make as much revenue as possible from people trying to race through those 10 miles as fast as possible (as if anyone could blame them). As such, the road is fucking crawling with cops, most of which are usually busy citing impatient drivers.

But today, there was only one cop on I-95. He was a Delaware State Trooper, located just past the only rest stop in the state, his car pointed towards the traffic as if prepared to nab anyone driving a mere single mph over the limit.

Time for a pop quiz.

You are a Delaware State Trooper, positioned to nab speeders in the manner described above. To which side of the highway do you point your car?

(a) towards the side of the road where traffic is progressing at a smooth rate

or

(b) towards the side of the road where traffic is at a goddamn standstill?

If you guessed (a), you're probably thinking way too logically to be a viable candidate and should consider a different career. If, however, you guessed (b), you should probably apply to join your fellow like-minded go-getters of the Delaware Highway Patrol. Way to work hard, boys.

I mean, I-295 through Burlington County is hardly an exhilirating or visually appealing drive, but at least I didn't hit any traffic on any of the New Jersey roads I drove today. What seems to be the problem with the Delmarva?

I Long for a Defined Jaw

As I mentioned to one of my patients earlier today, I'm pretty confident that there's no fat man or woman on Earth who is genuinely happy with being fat. I say this with roughly fifteen years of experience on the matter -- yes, it's true, there was a time when I was both skinny and cute, and what the hell happened to those days is anyone's guess.

And while my "M.lb." plan got sidelined by a number of different logistical problems that come with the being-home-and-not-in-State-College-for-the-summer territory, I've been making a concentrated effort in recent weeks to genuinely slim down. Specifically, by jump-starting my progress with the no-carb plan (which I know isn't a valid long-term weight-loss plan and is probably terrible for me, but if you were sick of being fat and something worked really well, you'd do it too) and then parlaying it into good old-fashioned exercise when I return to Penn State.

In the week and a half since I've been carb-free, I've noticed myself losing. Tomorrow's the official weigh-in, but I'd guess I've lost around five pounds or so, if not a little more. And while my voluptuous man-tits, bulbous ass, and cottage-cheese gut are the three things I'd most like to see vanish as a result of my most recent effort, I determined while in the car today that there's something to be said for the weight that sits in one's face.

Me, I've had a double chin for some time. This may shock many of you -- in fact, it shocked me. I only discovered this double-chin when I realized that the chin-neck area of my body is a nebulous, indistinct area. My chin doesn't get clearly defined so much as the edge of my soul patch slopes at an indiscriminate angle that ends somewhere below my Adam's apple.

And yes, I know that means it's my neck that really disappears, but my jaw is what really suffers because, contrary to popular belief, my face is not round, but rather square. Much more like, say, the left-bottommost Mii face than the left second-from-top that I currently use.

Perhaps this is the source of my complete lack of self-confidence! The epitome of the man's man is the tight-lipped, square-jawed Clint Eastwood-style motherfucker who takes no shit and pulls no punches. This is what I secretly strive to be! I ache to be listened to and respected without question, to have my many moods tolerated with impunity! The key is in the jaw, and my jaw, beneath layers of unsightly cellulite, possesses the definition necessary!

If that's not a reason to lose weight -- besides, of course, my obscene personal vanity -- then I don't know what is.

The Triumph of Dumb Luck

After a week of 5:00am and 6:00am wake-ups, I felt like fate was sitting on my chest while I lay on the floor, squirming but unable to move. Unfortunately, my plan to come home at 1:30pm today and take a nice long nap was side-tracked by my brother's own idea that I should help him move a heavy, awkward bookcase in his house.

Prior to actually venturing over there, however, I needed to take care of a few menial tasks -- not a lot of time, but enough time for my brother to keep calling home and asking me to bring this and that thing that he forgot. By the third call, I was pretty pissed, and when my father admitted that he had no idea where he would be able to find two Romex connectors and that I'd just be better off stopping by the hardware store on the way there, I was pretty much at the end of my rope.

I pulled up next to Jones' Hardware and, upon traveling through the door, was instantly transported to a different time, a time when you couldn't see the walls for all the crap hanging off the hooks, a time when two guys could stand at the counter and talk like men, cursing and blathering, bullshitting while another guy waited behind them, appreciating the candor and in no rush to interrupt.

But alas, interrupt I did, to get the pieces I needed. As Mr. Jones went to fish out my connectors, the young guy he was bullshitting with said, "Well, I gotta go, but see what you can do with these," at which point he deposited two blue pieces of paper on the counter. Piqued, I leaned in and took a gander at what they were.

Mets tickets. Two, to tomorrow night's game against the St. Louis Cardinals, to be precise.

(And I know, I know, I'm a diehard Yankees fan. But I do love baseball, and I have been meaning to see a game in Shea Stadium before it too gets the kaboom treatment.)

So I leaned in and casually asked the guy, "How much you asking?" Before he could answer, I had my phone out to call my brother and ask him how high he'd be willing to pay.

And before the phone could even ring, the guy looks at me and goes, "They're yours if you can use them."

At which point I responded, "Damn straight I can!" and snatched them off the counter.

I mean, none of this changes the fact that my brother is disorganized and doesn't manage his time well and needs to pull his head out of his ass when it comes to getting shit done around his house. But hey, at least I've got plans tomorrow night -- and baseball trumps naps any day of the week.

Joba Chamberlain: Reliever, Starter, ...Actor?

Within the last ten minutes, the YES Network has proven to me that, beyond the shadow of a doubt, I am going into the wrong profession.

I learned this by watching Joba Chamberlain in a commercial for some product. I don't remember the product -- I vaguely recall it may have had something to do with the Yankees chain/lanyard he strapped around his neck halfway through -- but I left the commercial thinking, "Wait a second. Someone actually got paid to come up with this crap? Probably a lot, too. Son of a bitch, what am I waiting for?!"

Here's the setup: our noble young phenom, sporting an untucked #62 jersey that probably has The Boss in a seizure fit right now, throws a baseball at a chalk outline of a strike zone on a brick wall. He, obviously, throws a strike. But for the good Hutt, this is not enough.

He straps on the aforementioned device -- go on, let that image sit in your head for a little while -- and throws again. Once more, a dead strike. But this time, the pitch goes clear through the wall, shocking the young children on the other side who look out the new hole, wide-eyed and radiant, and declare, "It's Joba Chamberlain!"

Not, "Hey Joba, why the fuck did you put a hole in our wall?" or "Hey asshole, why don't you throw at a brick wall in Boston if you're gonna bust shit up?" -- either of which I certainly would have said.

And how does Joba reply? With a huge, caricatured wink that instantly made me think of all the horrid late-'80s/early-'90s TV commercials hocking kid's crap that usually came in an assortment of violently neon colors.

So even though I can't remember what the product was, I came away with the following lessons:

1. If you're not knocking down buildings with your pitches, you're not throwing hard enough.
2. This product, even though it goes around your neck, will make you throw knock-buildings-down hard.
3. Just because you can throw a ball knock-buildings-down hard doesn't mean you can act worth a damn.

Perhaps Joba would be well-suited to look at other great examples of athletes-turned-actors that failed.

1. Michael Jordan -- He may have made the Looney Tunes' basketball team look like the Portland Trail Blazers during the game scenes in Space Jam, but in dialogue with Bugs Bunny, he made Mr. What's Up, Doc? look like freaking De Niro by comparison.
2. Shaquille O'Neal -- Steel proved that Shaq-as-super hero was almost as convincing a performance as Shaq-as-legitimate foul shooter.
3. Alex Rodriguez -- In his latest commercial for the Boys and Girls Clubs of America, he pretends that he actually likes all the kids that surround him. Enough said.

Seriously, Joba, stick to throwing the high heat and being the big cardboard cutout that greets me with an enticing-looking iced coffee when I walk into my local Dunkin' Donuts. As for me, I'm off to go enroll in marketing courses.

Open for Business!

Welcome to A Tournament of Lies!

There's not much here yet, but feel free to poke around, make yourself comfortable, and take a gander around my other, more spare, less furnished corner of the Internet.

Here you will find me muse on things far different from those you're used to from A Rapturous Verbatim. Whether that's good or bad remains to be seen, but I sure hope you enjoy what I try to do here.

One of my goals here, I confess, is brevity. And in the interest of proving that I'm committed to brevity, anyone who wants to know more about why I need another place to blather on stupidly should be directed here, where all your questions will be answered.

Let the dual-voiced mayhem begin!

I Wonder...

...what could this be?

Details forthcoming...